


Lullaby of Broadway

by messedupstargazer



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: But has music in it, Caring Illya, Ella Fitzgerald music, Fluffiness, M/M, Short & Sweet, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Napoleon, not a song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messedupstargazer/pseuds/messedupstargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon loves sleeping with Illya.  Illya is good at making him feel loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby of Broadway

Napoleon loved sleeping next to Illya. Normally, whenever Napoleon slept with anyone, he towered over his partners and was always the big spoon. Now, since Illya was a whopping four inches taller than him, Napoleon was always so wrapped up in Illya. Illya was always warm, soft but firm, and Napoleon had never fit so well into a partner. Napoleon was always tucked into Illya's neck and sleeping with Illya's arm around him was just short of heaven.

Every day Illya woke up at shit fucker a.m. and no matter how Napoleon tried, he could never seem to wake up before Illya. He had once lamented this fact to Gaby who merely laughed at him and told him that he does the same thing whenever they're pretending to be a couple. Apparently, the KGB kept a very strict schedule and didn’t like it’s agents to be late. Neither did the CIA, but they never required it’s agents to get up butt fuck o’clock. But it was simply a piece of Illya Napoleon had come to accept.

Now Napoleon simply lay in Illya's arms, drifting between consciousness and sleep. The rise and fall of Illya's chest and the beating of his heart kept Napoleon in that perfect state of limbo. Knowing they had no work that day, apparently Waverly took International Thank-You Day very seriously and always used it as a day off, Napoleon was content to fall back asleep, enveloped in Illya.

“Come on along and listen to  
The lullaby of Broadway  
The hip hooray and ballyhoo  
The lullaby of Broadway”

The familiar song entered Napoleon's brain and barely registered. Illya sometimes like to play records before falling asleep and would sometimes pass out before being able to turn them off. Wait, that wasn’t Ella Fitzgerald and there was no background music. Napoleon listened intently and he heard no sound of a record player, jazz music or the scratch of the needle. Instead, he heard a voice with a Russian accent crooning softly a cappella.

“The rumble of a subway train  
The rattle of the taxis  
The daffodils who entertain  
At Angelo's and Maxi's  
When a Broadway baby says good night  
It's early in the morning  
Manhattan babies don't sleep tight  
Until the dawn  
Good night, baby  
Good night, the milkman's on his way  
Sleep tight, baby  
Sleep tight, let's call it a day  
Hey”

Illya's voice was deep and soothing. Napoleon wanted to disappear forever into that voice. The rumbling of Illya's chest as he sang combined with his soft voice felt like heaven on earth. There was nowhere else in the world Napoleon wanted to be right now and he almost fell back asleep from the wonderful noise but he forced himself to stay awake. Illya was still singing.

“Come on along and listen to  
The lullaby of Broadway  
The hi-de-ho and boop-a-doo  
You'll sleep all day  
Good night, baby  
Good night, the milkman's on his way  
Sleep tight, baby  
Sleep tight, let's call it a day  
Listen to the lullaby  
Of old Broadway”

“You never told me you could sing.” Napoleon whispered, kissing Illya's neck.

Illya jumped back, disrupting Napoleon's comfortable position on top of him. Napoleon whined as Illya's ears flushed deep red.

“Don’t be like that, Peril.” Napoleon teased. “I think you have a lovely voice.”

Illya looked away. “You were not meant to hear that.”

“What?” Napoleon asked. “A Russian KGB agent singing an American song?”

“Nyet.” Illya shook his head. “Just go back to sleep, Cowboy, and forget this.”

“How can I?” Napoleon demanded. “That was exquisite. I'm keen to hear more of that.”

Illya turned a deeper shade of red.

“Where did you even learn that song?” Napoleon asked.

“You play the record of Miss Fitzgerald often enough.” Illya said. “If I had not yet learned the song, I would not be very good spy.”

Napoleon chuckled. “You always were a terrible spy, Peril.”

Illya rolled his eyes at the teasing. “You are worst, Cowboy.”

“Oh?” Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “Shall we agree that Gaby is best?”

Illya considered this. “Would be better if she was Russian but I settle for East German.”

Napoleon laughed. “I can't wait to tell her that.”

“I think she already knows she's the best.” Illya dismissed.

“If she did, wouldn’t she rub it in our faces?” Napoleon asked, ignoring the remark for Illya's sake.

“You are thinking of you, Cowboy.” Illya said. “Not of Chop Shop Girl. She knows not to boast.”

“Are you saying I'm a braggart?” Napoleon asked indignantly.

“I believe American expression is ‘you words not mine.” Illya supplied.

“Your words, not you words.” Napoleon corrected gently.

Illya nodded. “Your words not mine.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes, then leaned to kiss him and Illya met him halfway. Early morning kisses was always something Napoleon enjoyed. Napoleon kissed the blush off of Illya and they settled back into bed. When they found out there was no work to be done, Napoleon insisted that they spend the whole day in bed. It had taken some coaxing but eventually, Illya relented. Illya wrapped an arm around Napoleon and Napoleon nuzzled into his neck.

They lay like that for a little while before a tiny little question started digging at Napoleon. He ignored it successfully for all of about ten minutes. The question blasted over and over in his mind until he couldn’t resist asking anymore.

“Why did you start singing?” Napoleon asked. “You don’t even sing when we play records.”

“You were… restless.” Illya admitted hesitantly. “I've found that that usually works to calm you.”

Napoleon stared at him, while Illya was blushing just as fiercely as before and determined not to meet his eyes. Napoleon felt a tightness in his chest. He was a born romantic, many romance novels had worked their wonder on Napoleon, but right now Illya had him beat. For a Russian KGB, Illya could be heart-wrenchingly romantic.

“You sing me to sleep?” Napoleon murmured.

“Only if you are having nightmare.” Illya amended.

“No one’s ever done that for me before.” Napoleon admitted quietly. “Not even my mother did that.”

Illya raised an eyebrow in confusion. Napoleon never had a bad word to say against the woman who did everything she could for her too-smart-for-his-own-good son.

“Not like that.” Napoleon explained. “She’s self-conscious of her voice. And, as much as I love my mother, she isn’t that great of a singer. It’s a talent she doesn’t have.”  
Illya smiled gently.

“And apparently you do, my Russian Лисичка.” Napoleon teased.

Illya's smile turned into a glare. “Why must you ruin these moments?”

“Would you love me if I didn’t?” Napoleon asked.

“Do not tempt me with such things, Cowboy.” Illya stated dryly.

Napoleon chuckled and snuggled back into Illya, embracing his legs around Illya's.

“осьминог.” Illya teased and Napoleon snorted.

“You love me.” Napoleon smiled.

Illya sighed. “Yes. Now shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Лисичка- love  
> Осьминог- octopus
> 
> At least it's not 6 am this time. Enjoy darlings!


End file.
